Renewing Yggdrasil
by DuchessMaguire
Summary: What if…Ragnarok signified renewal? Their short-term pain was the saving grace in a bigger plan that set in motion a prophecy long foretold? From renewal, can new hope spring forth? To answer these questions, you need the missing pieces of the tale; her story of sacrifice, his love and their renewal. Post-Avengers.


_Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters; all rights belong to the respective companies._

**Author's Note:** Let's assume Loki didn't try to stop Natasha from removing the Terresect. Let's assume he caught her off-guard after Iron Man closed the portal. Let's assume his desire for vengeance makes him unpredictable. Furthermore, let's assume there's a lot more to Ragnarok than we know….

**Chapter 1: What No Man Will Have**

Ever since the incident two years, she trained every day. There was never a specific day when she expected to join the war, so her schedule was rigorous. Whenever that day came, no unit would call and no government agency would summon her. Quite literally, as her father stressed, the battle lines would be drawn and she would feel compelled to his presence. She, a woman who had never seen war nor taken a life, would leave behind her fairy-tale ideals and keep a promise made on that day.

The repetitive nature of her days was likely what kept her sane. She rose with the sun, warmed up with a series of calisthenics, and then followed one of the training programs put together by her father. He, the decorated soldier who never wanted her to see his former life, would push her boundaries in every way. Sometimes it was mental preparedness with intense interrogation tactics in the frozen woods of their New York estate. Other times, it was search and rescue missions with her son as the target. Titan enjoyed those days the most because he always managed to sneak up on her. Feeling his cold hands on her back would prompt a rare smile from her. Her son couldn't understand why the house was filled with smiling photos of his mother from years past, though they were so rare now.

The worst days started when she woke to see that damn picture. It was a snapshot from a happier time; their wedding. After only a year of dating ("courting" in his words), he'd proposed with the express intent of never letting her out of his sight. "Thinking with my heart instead of my head. I must be turning into my idiot brother," she recalled him remarking after she accepted. He'd never spoken of a brother until that moment, so her choice not to pursue the topic remained as one of her biggest regrets.

She remembered he didn't want to sit for any wedding pictures, preferring instead to disappear for minutes, only to reappear with her favorite flowers and some sarcastic comment. One of those, a dried calla lily, lay wrapped around the picture frame. In the photo, every guard and every mask was absence from his trademark smirk. He actually looked happyand fulfilled. _Like __**he**__ was finally enough for someone for the first time in his life, _she thought bitterly.

In the picture, he's laughing as she pushed a piece of vanilla wedding cake into his unsuspecting face. His blue-green eyes are dancing with possible retorts as the snowflakes fell on her bare shoulders and his short, black hair. The words he whispered after still linger in her mind, like a long-forgotten song, "Such silly traditions these are, like the cake and the garter. The only one I want to study in more detail is the wedding night."

If she was lucky, her memory would stop there. If not, it would linger, like an unwanted house guest, in the memories of that evening; her last night of innocence. Not just in body, but in soul and spirit. To this day, she still shudders when recalling their one night together. At the peak of his pleasure, hooded, vibrant eyes had stared back at her with a kind of adoration she only heard about in fairy tales. She remembers sweat dripped from his furled brows as his lips peppered her face with the softest of kisses, like the gentle brush of a nightingale's wing, his whispered words after he came apart on top of her, "Never in my life have I felt this kind of peace. Please don't ever starve my soul by taking this away." In reply, she had promptly flipped him over and whispered in his, "I will love you for eternity, forever it may be, until everything has nothing, forever you'll have me*." If only she had known how drastically their lives would change the next day. _Or what the price would be if I didn't protect his soul, _she would think sadly.

During those mornings, her father would find her hunched over the picture, tears streaming down her face. He regrettably noticed how his princess-turned-warrior daughter no longer cried loudly, but simply shed her tears in silence. Never a gasp, never a cry; nothing like the time her godfather, Nick Fury, was tasked with calming an inconsolable, 15-year old Annika after she was stood up for a date.

On those mornings, he'd politely cough and gently prod her to remember her mission. Within minutes, she buried the Annika he remembered beneath a face of determination and ice. He always knew, during those mornings, that she would demand the most strenuous training from him and Titan's godmother, a certain priestess from Jötunheim who occupied the guest house on their property. Watching the intensity of the training Annika demanded from Sigrun, it appeared as if she were trying to burn him from her memories while simultaneously drawing strength to fight for him. For those sessions, Annika would wear a flimsy tank top exposing the matching Jotun claw marks that graced the pale skin of her shoulder blades. He didn't worry about her cries of pain anymore. The Jotun blood running through her veins from bearing Titan, coupled with the claw marks signaling her as a mate of the Jotun and her Phillips pride, left Annika more than capable of dodging the ice daggers Sigrun would throw or the frosty blasts she would hurtle in return.

Her father knew the one great joy in Annika's days were the times spent with her son. Like a good mother, she spun happy stories about his father before bedtime. Even though he was technically only a year old, Titan looked like the other four-year old boys in the neighborhood. Wavy black hair, coupled with one blue eye and one emerald eye, made him a favorite with his teachers.

But, his magic was already showing. Annika managed to keep it hidden as best as she could, though it was no replacement for the training his father could have given. At least Titan had inherited his mother's gentle disposition. As a result, his magical "accidents," as Sigrun called them, could be handled with the "Magic No-No" list that hung on refrigerator. The only thing Titan disliked more than upsetting his mother with his magical "accidents" was imagining his father's displeasure. _My, how the little acorn is like the big acorn, _John thought occasionally.

He knew the recent events on the news were taking a toll on her. It was a battle to make sure Titan didn't catch a glimpse of green or red on the television set or that certain names weren't mentioned in his presence. In those moments, she was both mother and wife. She'd pushed her son off to bed with a promise of another story about his father's antics and intelligence. Then, as Sigrun helped him get ready for bed, she'd look at the TV with remorse as familiar eyes stared darkly at the destruction in front of him. Shaking her head with regret and cursing the nine realms, she'd turn off the television, plaster a smile on her face and run after her son with threats of the tickle monster.

This was the scene Colonel John Phillips, one of World War II's most decorated covert operatives, found after returning to their home in the Catskill Mountains. His daughter, Annika, was chasing after a laughing, blue-skinned Titan who appeared halfway into his pajamas. Sigrun's darker blue hands were whipping a spoon in what appeared to be a batter for pancakes. Her ruby lips were curled back in a snarl as she cursed Mischief, the gray, green-eyed short-hair who seemed intent on tasting the batter before it went into the griddle on the stove. Letting his eyes wonder, John noticed the other four felines who each occupied a chair around the dinner table, looking at him as if to ask, "When's dinner?"

To anyone else, this scene would seem out of place. But while the last few years had been some of the strangest in his life, John was not new to weird events. Calling Nick Fury a fellow friend and solider in arms, coupled with an anti-aging ability that hid the hundred years he had lived, saw to it that nothing was "weird" in John's book.

Looking back, John saw the little signs he missed that this night would change the odd dynamic in his little house. The skies were darker, Titan's eyes were more vibrant as the news came on and Annika's skin was paler than usual, almost as white as ice. As one of the cats hopped on the couch and turned off the Mute button on the remote, the voice that filtered through the television was the final clue that today was the day for which Annika had trained.

The cruel, detached voice that reached John's ears seemed a far cry from the articulate, soft-spoken man whose face occupied the pictures in his living room. When he looked at the television, he vaguely noticed the headlines which blinked "LIVE" at the bottom of the screen. By this time, Annika's back had stiffened. With a kiss to his sharp cheeks, she whispered a charm into Titan's ear and placed his sleeping head on her shoulder. Sigrun quickly walked over and took Titan from Annika's arms.

Both father and daughter stared in silence at the figure on the screen. Standing tall against the fallen New York landscape, his green and gold armor glistened in the afternoon sky. A close-up brought his face into view. Devoid of life, filled with rage and barely-restrained fury, green eyes blazed angrily from behind a towering helmet. A sharp, angular face, framed by wild, shoulder-length hair, bore a deranged smile. Out of the corner of his eye, John caught Annika looking at the wedding photo sitting on top of the television. He noticed the laughing blue-green eyes and honest smile which looked back at them from behind flecks of snow and cake. _The soul has many faces. Don't be fooled by one you don't recognize, _John recalled from his earlier conversation with Annika during their training session that morning.

When he heard the next words from the man he used to call his second son, John knew his daughter's day of reckoning had come. The camera panned out to show the man towering above a smaller figure, brown hair matted with blood and wide, terrified eyes. Similar expressions could be seen on the other women restrained by the Chitauri generals. One, a tall blonde with the Stark logo on her polo, appeared resigned to her fate. Another, whose auburn tresses were caked with ash, struggled for the taser held just out of her reach. The two ladies, one a tall woman with ebony hair askew from her bun and another with hair the color of fames, still maintained looks of defiance only SHIELD could teach, despite the crooked appearances of their broken legs.

When the monster-inhabiting-his-son-in-law snapped back the head of the petite woman in his arms, John saw the knife lying dangerously close to her neck. With that action, the Chitauri generals drew similar weapons against the necks of their respective hostages. In a deathly calm voice, the man declared, "I said I would visit her. A pity it won't last very long. You took away my chance to rule this realm, Thor. Tell me, why shouldn't I steal away the very people who matter the most to your rag-tag team of Neanderthals?"

The camera zoomed to the left, showing a group of tired, battle-worn men and women. A large green man snarled as he laid down the infamous Iron Man, eyes drawn in defeat to the taser-reaching woman. The great symbol of hope, Captain America, laid down his shield carefully, never taking his eyes off the SHIELD operative who smiled sadly back at him. The archer drew back an arrow of warning while his gaze never left the red-head. At the center of these men stood a towering figure stood with his fists clenched in anger, defeat written across his face. Blue eyes peered out from behind bloodied, blonde hair in the direction of his fallen brother and the scared lovers of his team.

"If he crosses that line, there's nothing left to salvage," John heard Annika whisper, finally becoming aware of her presence next to him. Her fair blonde hair was pulled back into a sharp bun, pieces falling around her pale blue eyes. She was dressed simply in black yoga pants, a green tank top, a gray jacket and leather bracers on her arms. _There's no need to overdo the armor. If you know how to protect yourself, your agility and speed will be enough, _John thought back to a conversation from their early training days.

"You need to go. This is the first test," Sigrun interrupted sharply with a raised eyebrow, "Remember, teleporting is only hard if you can't visualize your landing. It's on the magic screen. This should not be that difficult."

"This should not be that difficult," Annika echoed with a strained laugh. Closing her eyes, long black lashes lay across her high cheekbones as her brows pulled together in concentration. With a soft pop, she vanished from the safety of her father.

"She is ready, John. We've trained her well. Remember, her name means saving grace. She will save him and all of us," Sigrun spoke softly as she disappeared to be at Annika's side.

_Only one move left to play, _John thought. Pulling out a small phone from his pocket, he dialed into a secure line. The call put him directly in the ear of his longtime friend and Annika's godfather, Nick Fury.

"No time for a check-in, Johnny," Nick yelled into the phone.

"I know this is not a good time, Nicky, but when is it ever? I know you are seeing the same scene as me on your viewer from that infernal ship you can call home base. I know your eyebrows are probably at the top of your head as you notice your little goddaughter standing in the middle of that war zone. Trust me when I tell you the game has changed and you just got dealt a wildcard in your hand. Tell your team to stand down and give Annika room. We've got one shot to avoid a mess that could become a lot worse," John replied coolly, "And yes, I will fill you in on the details later. But right now, you need to trust your old commander."

Hanging up the phone quickly, John watched as Annika appeared between the battle lines. He knew the feeling she was experiencing as the area grew quiet with anticipation. And for the first time in almost half a century, he removed the rosary hanging on the picture of his long-dead wife and prayed to whatever gods would hear him.


End file.
